


Between Work and Sleep

by Geonn



Category: Sanctuary (TV), Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:59:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>H.G. finishes her work and takes some pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Work and Sleep

" _There comes a moment in the day when you have written your pages in the morning, attended to your correspondence in the afternoon, and have nothing further to do. Then comes that hour when you are bored; that’s the time for sex._ " - H.G. Wells

The last word was written and the story was done. She still used pen and ink, distrustful of those typing contraptions. Too many possibilities to go wrong and lose everything, and _far_ too easy to rewrite. The words were transient on the screen, able to disappear just as easily as they were put down. She despised that. She needed the permanence of the printed page, the solidity of the ink, to make her story official.

She blew on the page to dry the ink before she closed the book. She no longer published, even though Helen had given her permission. There was no historical record of a Helena Wells, so there was no reason she couldn't publish under her own name. But she was content with getting the stories written. It was a special treat to those who lived and worked in the Sanctuary to find unknown H.G. Wells' novels in their library.

Not to mention the fact that many of her newer novels featured Helen Magnus as a prominent character.

She put aside her newest novel, an adventure set in Eastern Africa based on a story Helen had told her. It featured Helen, a past lover, and a horde of bloodthirsty subterranean beasts. In the story, Hodari was just a friend of Helen's and not a paramour. She was fine with the knowledge that Helen had past lovers. She was even fine with knowing that Helen had current intimate relationships. After all, H.G. had Myka. Her relationship with Helen was stronger than petty jealousies. It spanned a century, it crossed lifetimes. Dalliances were of no consequence, but H.G. could not bring herself to actually write about Helen with another woman. She remembered the fair-haired girl at the World's Fair, her fine gloves with the whalebone buttons and charmed-to-meet-you smile.

The first thing H.G. said to the ingénue was, "And what do you plan to do?"

"I plan to change the world. Care to join me?"

H.G. left the library and went down the corridor. It was late and the lights were turned low. She loved it like this, when electric light simulated the warm glow of gaslight. It was calming and reminded her of home. A few nocturnal residents greeted her as she passed. What a difference a year made, her time rehabilitating under Helen's care. Becoming someone who could be trusted on her own, who could trust again.

She took the lift back to Helen's residence, the brick of rooms separate from the rest of the Sanctuary's common areas. She felt honored to be allowed here. She changed clothes in the antechamber off Helen's bedroom and continued in her underclothes. One thing she truly loved about the modern era was the clothing. She chose a short magenta nightgown with a lace bodice, luxuriating in the way it tickled her thighs when she walked.

Helen was asleep with the covers draping her hip, nude as usual. H.G. tilted her head and examined her lover in repose. Her hand was next to her head, the fingers curled loosely toward the palm. Helen was a vision of loveliness, her lips slightly parted. Helen slept little enough as it was; H.G. was loath to disrupt her. She moved carefully and Helen didn't stir as she was joined under the blankets. H.G. lay on her side, smiling at Helen as she slept.

She remembered days of champagne and absinthe. The touch of a woman's hand beneath her slip. A gasp and a shudder as she came, Helen's head on her shoulder, unsure if her body was trembling from the motion of the carriage or the aftershocks of her orgasm.

H.G. moved one hand down under the blankets. Helen had taught her the art of onanism, had stood behind her chair, hands on her shoulders, and whispered the nastiest, most erotic things H.G. had ever heard. Then she had moved her hands down H.G.'s arms, stroking her through the sleeves of her blouse, and guided her hand down to her lap. "I won't touch you. Not today. But that doesn't mean you must go unfulfilled."

Every time she touched herself since, she heard Helen's whisper - "My tongue on your clit, teasing you." - and felt the wash of breath across her hair. She lifted her nightgown and pressed two fingers against her folds. Oh, the worlds Helen had shown her! H.G. was credited with creating some truly fantastic worlds, but without Helen Magnus they would never have existed. She'd have been a forgotten hack writer, one of thousands, lost to the ages. But Helen - and to a certain extent, Nikola - had awoken a part of her she hadn't known existed.

When society told her a woman must know her place, Helen had shown her how to carve out her own place wherever she damn well pleased.

It was Helen, a flushed and almost giddy Helen, who had placed a phallus in H.G.'s hands and said, "You simply must try this, my dear. I'll show you how it works."

H.G. had frowned at the object. She'd seen many of these in her life. "Works? However do you mean?"

And Helen turned a dial, and the device came to life. It trembled until H.G.'s hand grew numb, her eyes widening at the possibilities. "Show me, show me." She and Helen had nearly crushed each other's hands as they rushed to the privacy of H.G.'s chambers.

Two fingers spread her now, a third teasing inside. She had her free arm tucked under her head, and she turned to kiss the warm flesh. She teased the bend of her elbow with her tongue and pretended it was the back of Helen's knee, a sensitive spot, and then she tightened her arm and imagined it was Helen's sex.

She opened her eyes and saw that Helen was awake. She hadn't moved, simply opening her eyes and focusing on the woman in bed with her. The corners of her mouth curled into a smile and H.G. whispered a hello. Helen rolled onto her side, hands pillowed palms-together under her cheek. Their eyes locked and H.G.'s breathing grew shallow and more desperate. Helen's eyes dipped to the smooth expanse of H.G.'s chest and the lace that hinted at but didn't reveal her breasts.

H.G. sighed and rolled her head back. She made quiet noises of pleasure, bucking her hips helplessly against her fingers and palm, her arms pressing her breasts together. She thought of all her other magnificent orgasms and tried to count how many of them had happened under Helen's watchful gaze. Surely ninety percent of them. More? When she cried out her orgasm, Helen surprised her with a kiss that muffled her shout. Their tongues touched, and Helen slid her hand down H.G.'s arm to her hand.

Helen drew H.G.'s hand from under the blankets, her fingers glistening in the light from her juices. Helen twisted her wrist, observing how the light caught it. She leaned in and placed a kiss to each finger, sucking the index finger into her mouth and teasing it with her tongue.

"You should have woken me." Helen pressed a kiss to the hollow of H.G.'s palm.

"It's so rare to see you sleep. Beauty in repose."

Helen smiled and pressed herself against H.G. under the blankets. "Well, I am awake now. Unless you have a method of lulling me back to slumber?"

H.G. slipped the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders and let Helen pull it down to expose the pink tips of her breasts. "I'm a writer, and you are one of the most brilliant scientists ever born. I'm certain together we can come up with something." She put her hands on the back of Helen's head and drew her head down to her chest. She smiled, arched her back, and let her eyes close as Helen began to explore.


End file.
